


Pas De Deux

by xRaevyn



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: F/F, TheNeonFlower, Years later au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xRaevyn/pseuds/xRaevyn
Summary: A DuCroix fic from Croix’s perspective based on art by @theneonflower





	1. Chapter 1

I was surprised she had even wanted me back in her life at this point, but Chariot always had a soft spot for those who needed a second chance at life. She’d saved me on more than one occasion with this kindness and I had no idea how to return the favor.

Tonight we sat in her room, which was her idea because she had to work on lesson plans for her students.

“To think you were hiding in plain sight,” I said, sitting down on her bed as she went through her collection of books. I tried not to imagine how differently things would be playing out if it weren’t for my mistakes.

“To think it took you ten or so years to find me,” she turned to me with a smile. “Though I suppose you’ll always find your way back to me eventually.”

“I try,” I replied, “though you never make it easy.”

“What fun would that be?” She sat criss-cross on the floor, the way she usually did when we were younger and life was less complicated, although our roles were reversed as it was usually me with the book and her with her hands in my hair, braiding away endlessly. With this image in my head came an idea, and I reached out with my left, pulling her hair back with a stroke and tucking it behind her ears. She flinched, but it was clear she was only startled by the sudden action because she did not retract from her position at all. I moved to sit on the floor behind her now, taking her hair in both hands which was a bit more difficult with my right being a little shaky, but I managed. Chariot having long hair was such a foreign concept to me that I had to run my fingers through it a few times just to ensure it was real. It was longer than mine had ever been. In fact, I had begun cutting mine short because of how much I liked Chariot’s short hair, not that the long hair didn’t suit her just as well.

“I don’t understand how you can have such long hair,” I said, sorting strands into manageable bunches.

“You get used to it,” she replied, letting out a sigh. I felt her relax into the action, and that sent a wave of relief shooting through me. I wanted to pull her hair aside and shower her in kisses, but I knew better. I knew things weren’t as they used to be, and that required me to dance around my emotions like one walks around eggshells, only these eggshells are already cracked and shattered in some places. We were both dancing around topics, dancing around each other, it was one great balancing act, a Pas De Deux between old friends turned lovers, old lovers turned enemies, old enemies turned to co-workers, and co-workers turned to friends once more. In a way, things were as they used to be, but not the used to I was fondest of.

I tried, and tried, and tried to feel the soft silk of her hair in my fingertips but my right hand refused to feel anything, and I knew that I could not, would never feel her as longingly, as lovingly as I once had. The thought brings tears to my eyes but I blink them back like a boat beating against the currents of churning ocean. I open my eyes after a moment of having them closed and realize the grimace on my face is far too noticeable for she has turned to look at me in the silence. “Are you alright?” she asks, and my breath hitches. We’re so close I can notice the individual webs of color in her irises, and I nod quickly so that we can stop making eye contact because I cannot bring myself to tear away from her soft, worried expression. “How’s your arm?”

“Fine,” I said, probably with a bit more bite than I meant to, but I tried to smile, tried to show her that I didn’t mean anything by it, tried to show her that I appreciated her concern.

“Does it hurt?” She asked, and I saw her lower the book in her hands. I pulled away, only slightly, fingers slipping through her hair. I looked down for a moment, biting my lip.

“I can’t feel anything at all.” All went silent and she seemed to seep into herself, sink inward and I wanted to hug the guilt out of her but could barely manage to spit out any reassurance. “But that’s okay. I can still move it to some extent.”

She nodded, the way she does when she understands something but doesn’t agree with it, and at that point I felt just as useless as the arm she was so insistently worried about. “You should focus on your lesson plans, not on me.” Chariot seemed unwilling to move on but did it anyway, I’m pretty sure, just to humor me or to avoid saying something she knew I would try to counter. She shifted to a more comfortable position and lifted the book back to eye level.  
I remembered why I was there, sudden recollection, and moved to regain her hair in my hands, the act of regrouping was far more conscious than it had been. I tried to go through the steps in my head, but it had been so long since I had ever had to braid hair that they all seemed jumbled and my shaky motor skills were not, in the least bit, helpful. I experimented with different styles, weaving and unweaving until I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

I started with the left, hoping that my dominant hand would make things easier to adjust to so i could replicate it on the other side. Chariot was as still as stone, as I worked away, and I couldn’t help but smile. She was always so cute when she was concentrating, almost like the world around her dropped away and all that existed was her and whatever was in front of her. I was thankful for that too, because sometimes I paused just to look at her and had to catch myself and return to the task at hand.

I regretted not grabbing any pins to hold her hair in place, it made things a lot more difficult in the long run, but I somehow managed, using the braids themselves to hold it all in place. We must have finished at the same time because she set the book down as soon as I retracted my hands and felt the back of her neck with sudden surprise. “Woah,” she was impressed, or sounded impressed by my ability to free her of the long, glorious locks of hair that had been sitting on her shoulders only an hour prior.

I watched her stand and followed suit. She walked to a large mirror in the room and stood, staring at her own image. She was staring with such intensity that for a moment I thought I could see a glimpse of who we were at the start of it all, before the smiles and laughter had faltered or faded. She twirled around and around, standing on her toes and looking over her shoulders, half expecting her hair to shake itself loose, and parts of it had, I wasn’t perfect at these sorts of things, but for the most part it stayed in tact. I half expected her to start to dance with as much giggling and twirling as she had done. But what I didn’t expect was Chariot grabbing my hands, holding them with both of hers, and the feeling of warmth that washed over me, as if the child-like wonder she’d been embodying had somehow infected me. In that moment I only wished I could feel both of her hands on mine instead of just the one that clasped my left. “I love it!” she shouted, as if I couldn’t tell. “I absolutely love it.”


	2. Touch Of Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A concept based on a conversation I had with Neon.

I liked the feeling of her against my scalp, the way her nails raked across my skin and the prickling feeling on the back of my neck, the hairs standing on end from where she’d been, her fingers laced with the short lavender strands of me, intertwined. I liked the way she stroked and back stroked, meandering her fingertips around the back of my head with such soft grace it was hard not to be lulled by the action of fingers expanding out to catch as much of me as possible, only to slink back and away like the rise and fall of pooling oceans.

In this one motion, I remember the nights I spent brushing Chariot’s hair out of her face while she slept, tucking her bangs behind her ear and kissing her forehead, as if to assure myself that her dreams would be just as pleasant as the peaceful look on her face. I remember running my fingers through her hair, grabbing it by the fist-full, anchoring myself to her with every tender moment and every kiss. I adored the feeling of being entangled in her, and I imagine, in this moment, that is what she is feeling, albeit on a much more platonic level as I know we might never return to nights like those.

I remember the first time I ever cut my hair, and how much Chariot threw a fit. It had been down to my waist, and I was through with sitting on it accidentally, or having the other kids tug it, so I cut it off myself, at about shoulder length. She thought I had gone mad, but really I was just admiring how short hers had been. Even still, she ran her hands through my hair and I pictured the way she used to separate the different chunks and braid them accordingly, always so meticulous about the act that it was impossible to do anything but allow her to work away. I thought of this and thought back to the moment she let me braid hers. Then I thought about the lack of feeling in my arm, and how much I wanted to feel her hand against mine. I still do.

I can only imagine what she must think of it now, even as comforting as it is to have her run her fingers through my short hair. I was a little disappointed in her long hair at first, but I think it grew on me a bit better than the color blue ever did. I open my mouth to ask her this but I find myself having to stop and re-evaluate every time before I finally can get the words out. “Is it bothersome?” only three words, but she understands because she ceases all motion to make eye contact with me and shakes her head gently. From where she is sitting and where I am laying I know exactly what she is going to say before the words escape her lips and I can already feel my heart clenching in my chest and crawling into the back of my throat.

She smiles softly down at me, bending over to kiss the top of my head before moving back to keep eye contact. “Every part of you is wonderful, even if it’s not as it used to be,” she says it and my world collapses like a crumbling puzzle pieces. I know she doesn’t mean it. Or maybe she does and I don’t want to believe it. I’ve let her down so many times I can’t imagine it being spoken as a state of truth, that she loved everything about me as I loved everything about her. She must’ve been able to tell that I was bothered because her hand receded from the back of my head and she stood up. “I should probably return to my room. We both have classes to teach in the morning…” Only I didn’t want her to leave, I didn’t want to lose the static feeling of her fingers along my scalp. I didn’t want to lose the warmth of her on my bed. I didn’t want to lose her again.

“Chariot…” I sat up, the weight of my heart weighing the corners of my mouth. I could barely manage an apology as I held back tears. “I’m sorry…”

“No, Croix,” Chariot said, shaking her head as she stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry.” And like that, she was gone.

I plopped back down on the bed, releasing a sigh in a fit of anger. I wasn’t angry at her, of course not, I was angry at myself. I had let her go once again, and I had no excuse this time, other than my natural tendency towards cowardice. I tugged at my hair by the handfulls but never had enough to try and tug out of my head. The pulsating feeling was gone now, and no matter how many times I tugged back strands with my own fingers, I could not recreate the electrifying feeling of her hands in my hair. I was a cat seeking to bask in daylight, the light I did not deserve, and my own overcast was getting in the way of the beautiful sun. But there’s always been a touch of grey with us, if only I could learn to move past it.


End file.
